His Deepest Desire

I sauntered in the dank halls of Hogwarts in the middle of a December night. It was mortifyingly quiet and not a single soul—even Filch—could be seen. I wound my robes tighter; the warming charm I placed earlier was beginning to wane. I had walked aimlessly for hours, yet the place that I desire to find is completely out of my sight.

Now perhaps, you were asking why a prissy Malfoy such as me would take the liberty of soiling his perfectly new robes as he continued to tread in silence rather than to be tucked in bed at this time of the night.

I sighed as I neared a window; the full moon in view. It had been exactly a year since Potter had finally defeated the Dark Lord and Hogwarts had immediately accepted willing students once more for them to continue their last year of study.

War had changed so much in me. I had become mature and the lessons we were having seemed to be nothing compared with the desperation and trauma that haunted me the year before. I had learned certain enchantments and spells that would take years for fully-trained Aurors to learn. I had overcome the capability of a very good Legilimens with my Occlumency. I even had known how to perform non-verbal magic—and that is saying a lot.

So, what is my reason for coming back?

There comes my nightly stroll here in the dark corridors of Hogwarts.

It just so happened that I heard Potter and Weasley talking about a mirror that they encountered when we were first years during the after-party that celebrated the triumph of us all against Lord Voldemort. It was at that time that the Golden Trio had finally opened up to their adventures before the Final Battle and how they were able to do it. At first, I wasn't listening to their mindless rambling, since some of their adventures included me as well ("Malfoy, Hermione, Neville and I were sent to detention with Hagrid. And we found out about Quirell drinking unicorn blood for Voldemort."). However, when Weasley piped in about that mirror, I was suddenly intrigued.

Potter had said that he had seen his parents. While Weasley talked about seeing himself as the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Head Boy and holding both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup.

Potter never did tell us what the mirror was properly called. Nor did he tell us what it really does, or rather, what it really shows.

So, when I heard that the mirror was still in Hogwarts, I immediately applied for my seventh year again. And for numerous nights, I had been seeking for it.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to locate its whereabouts until now.

I turned left and came across a door and a dead end. Raising my eyebrows, I tried to push the door open and was surprised that it was unlocked. Lighting my wand, I went inside the room and gaped at its surroundings. It was deserted and filthy, and only a portrait of Dumbledore adorned the far side of the wall. Yet my grey eyes were not looking at him, my eyes were fixed on the tall furniture nestled beside it.

It's the mirror. I mentally shuddered as I paced nearer.

I could feel the portrait's eyes on me as I moved closer, my eyes never breaking contact with the glass. Yet before I got there, the late professor's quirky yet gentle voice boomed across the room.

"I see that you have finally found what you're looking for, Mr. Malfoy." His eyes twinkled as I fixed my gaze on him.

I looked at the mirror once again, yet this time, I did not move. I tucked my wand inside my robes and asked the portrait the question that has been dreading to be answered.

"What is it called?" My tone was filled with longing and curiosity, yet I didn't seem to mind.

"It has many names, Mr. Malfoy." A pause. "Yet, it is most commonly known as the Mirror of Erised."

"Erised?" I glanced at him once again. "Isn't that desire spelled backwards?"

"Ahh. Indeed." He flashed his enigmatic grin at me. Even for a painting, he looked realistic. "Why don't you take a look?"

I nodded my head and walked once again. And as the glass was only at arm's reach, an unlikely picture confronted me.

My eyes widened in shock as I saw the reflected image. I narrowed my gaze in confusion, not understanding why I was seeing this picture of myself. This couldn't possibly be what I want! It couldn't be!

I tried to tear my gaze away from it, to shield my eyes from the figure that flashed before my face. Yet, I couldn't. It was too tempting, too delicious for me to look away without taking in what was in front of me.

I touched the glass of the mirror and run my cold fingers along it. The moisture from the coldness of the night had lingered on it, as well as the icon emblazed in front of me. I pried my hand away, staring intently at the image.

Standing there was my eleven-year-old self. I had an arm around Potter's shoulder, the other ruffling Weasley's red hair. We were animatedly talking about something, probably Quidditch since we all stood there with a Nimbus 2001 on our hands. But that wasn't the oddest part of it.

I was happy. I freely laugh and smile at the image before me. I was there with them not because of a fight or a verbal assault.

I was there because I'm their friend.

I released the breath that I never knew I was holding as the image dissolved into nothingness. I bowed my head in contemplation, baffled with what I saw. I tread my hands on my platinum locks and sat down, not minding my robes at all.

I gazed at the portrait on my side, my eyes reflecting the perplexity of the situation. He only smiled and clasped his hands in front of his chest, and I knew that it was his way of letting me bombard him with questions.

"Wh-What does it let you see?" I dreaded the answer that would escape his lips, for I have an answer on my mind as well.

"What do you think does it let you see, Mr. Malfoy?" He backfired.

"Desire." I muttered airily. "It shows us what we desire."

"Yes, it does." Dumbledore continued. "The mirror shows us what our hearts truly want. Yet, most of the time, it neither offers us truth nor reality. So it would be wise if you would rather not look at it again after this, Mr. Malfoy." With a nod, he moved away from the portrait.

I sighed and stood up; taking everything that had recently taken place into account. But as I glanced at the mirror for the very last time, a new image formed before my eyes.

I was again drawn to it, yet this time, the initial shock had faded. I held the glass more affectionately this time and a tiny smile had made its way across my pale, chapped lips. Without my knowledge, a lone tear had run down my cheek as I stared at the picture longingly and my eyes clouded with desire.

Yet, the night breeze blew even harder and I had no choice but to remove my hands from it. I wrapped my robes around me once more, uttered another warming charm and made my way back to the door. With a fleeting glance, I walked away.


After that fateful night, I considered Dumbledore's words and never went back. I had finished the year smoothly, even if the thoughts of what I had seen continued to plague my mind. And when I was to get inside the train for the ride home, a lone voice from the bustling noise made its way into my ears.

"Malfoy!" The voice went nearer. I turned around, only to see her standing with a parcel on under her arm.

I looked at her inquisitively, noting that it was unusual for her to come near me during this time. We had been civilised during our stay at Hogwarts, especially since we had felt the same strain that the war had done. We had shared a few talks and even some playful taunting, yet we only do that occasionally. And as I walked nearer and she did the same, the similar feeling that I had as I gazed at the mirror for the second time had been brought up again.

Not that I was foreign to it anymore. After all, I always had it whenever she's around.

"What is it, Granger?" I smirked at her form, dishevelled and panting. "Missed me already?"

"Oh, don't let your pompous arse get the better of this conversation." She smiled brightly and handed me the package she had been carrying.

I raised my eyebrow and shook the parcel. She rolled her eyes and smiled at my antics. When I was about to ask her about it, she abruptly planted a soft, warm kiss on my cheek.

"Happy birthday, Draco." With a wave, her bushy hair mingled with the crowd and I stood there as rigid as a corpse.

Finally pulling myself together, I hopped onto the train and into an empty compartment. The parcel on my hand was left unopened as my gaze lingered on the passing trees and grassy plains. With a contented smile, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Hermione Granger stood beside my present self, her body pressed against that of my reflection. She had her head thrown back as she laughed heartily about something that I had just whispered on her ear. She kissed my forehead and let my reflection snuggle on the crook of her neck.

And as I held on the glass, her gaze was suddenly fixed on me. Her eyes sparkled in warmth and love as I held it with mine. The other Draco eventually looked at me, too, and a smirk was adorning his angular face. With an arm wrapped around her, he pulled her into a longing kiss.

I was happy. She was happy.

And everything was perfect.

Just like what I desire.


Another Dramione fic on Draco's POV. I've been enjoying writing this way. Haha.

Please read and review. Thank you! :D